Time was given, but it did not feel like mercy.
A red clock appeared above the blackboard, its numbers descending without sound. No announcement followed. No explanation. Yet everyone understood instinctively that when it reached zero, something irreversible would happen.
The man at the front of the room spoke calmly. "This is the Reckoning Period. Everything you carried from your previous life will surface here. Actions, lies, attachments. You may reveal them yourselves, or they may be revealed by others. When the time ends, judgment will follow."
A murmur spread through the classroom.
"This is a joke, right?" someone said, forcing a laugh.
No one answered.
The air shifted. Conversations broke out in fragments, sharp and panicked, like glass shattering.
"You said you'd wait for me," a girl snapped, standing abruptly. "You promised."
The boy across from her clenched his jaw. "That was years ago."
I watched them closely. It didn't take long to see what they were. Their arguments carried weight, familiarity, resentment layered over something deeper. They weren't just former classmates.
They had been married.
The realization came quietly, but it stayed with me. This place wasn't pulling out random truths. It was replaying lives.
"Sit down," the man said gently.
They obeyed, breathing hard, eyes refusing to meet.
Elsewhere, voices rose again.
"I know what you did," a boy said to his friend, his tone unnervingly calm.
The friend laughed. "You're imagining things."
But his hands shook as he spoke.
The rule became clear without being stated. If someone exposed your truth, both of you would pass this stage. If no one spoke before the time ended, the truth would be dragged out another way.
Some broke under the pressure.
"I cheated," a boy suddenly shouted. "On the entrance exams. I paid someone. Is that enough?"
The man shook his head slowly. "Confession without confrontation holds no weight."
The boy collapsed into his chair, sobbing. He had destroyed himself and gained nothing.
Others were more ruthless.
"You leaked the answers," a girl said coldly, staring at the person beside her. "I saw the messages."
Silence followed. Then understanding.
The clock continued to fall.
A name cut through the room like a blade.
"Charles Ahito."
He sat near the window, expression unreadable.
The boy next to him stood, pale. "I'm sorry," he said. "I don't want to disappear."
Charles turned toward him. "Careful," he said quietly.
"You ordered it," the boy continued, voice shaking. "Your father was about to win the election. You hired someone to kill him. You told me everything."
A heavy stillness swallowed the room.
Charles did not deny it. He exhaled slowly, as if relieved. "I wondered when you'd choose yourself over me."
The man at the front nodded once. "Truth acknowledged. Both parties advance."
The betrayer sank to the floor in relief. Charles simply closed his eyes.
I said nothing.
Even when eyes began to drift toward me.
Even when the man's gaze lingered longer than necessary.
Even when the clock dropped below three minutes.
I could speak. I knew enough. But this was not the moment. When my name was finally called, I stood calmly.
"I won't expose anyone," I said.
Whispers erupted.
"You accept the consequence, then?" the man asked.
"Rules exist to be interpreted," I replied. "Not obeyed blindly."
I paused, then added, "But you never forbade self-disclosure."
The room stilled.
"When I was younger," I said evenly, "I took money that wasn't mine. Two million dollars. It belonged to my father. He never noticed. I used it to build something of my own in Kyoto."
Shock rippled through the class. The clock froze.
The man smiled, this time without concealment. "A violation of intent, but not of structure. Interesting."
I sat back down, as the room exhaled in confusion and fear, a thought settled quietly in my mind. Truth is dangerous, but timing decides who bleeds.